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“Ew,” Val said. “You call him Daddy?”
“I was talking to Blue.” I squatted to scratch her stomach. Manning and I had decided to foster pets until after graduation when I’d be living at home full-time. Blue was a Border Collie-Australian Shepherd mix—or so we guessed—named after the striking color of her eyes. She’d been the third dog we’d taken in. I’d cried buckets when the shelter had placed the second dog, so Manning had suggested we keep Blue. He’d said it was to prevent more tears, but it was no secret Manning had a weakness for blue eyes.
When the front door opened, Blue perked up. “He’s here,” I whispered to Val. “I’ll call you later.”
“Tell him to put a ring on it,” she cried.
“I don’t even want to know how many times you’ve listened to Beyoncé’s new album,” I said before I hung up.
“Lake?” Manning called, stomping through the foyer.
I stood and smoothed out my apron before quickly scrubbing flour from my wrist. “In the kitchen.”
He came in wiping his temple on his sleeve. “You said you were driving in tomorrow morning.”
I had about two seconds to get a good look at him—flannel open at the collar, a week’s worth of beard, and hair pushed off his face—before he had me off my feet and wrapped in one of his strong bear hugs.
“I decided to surprise you,” I said.
“I hate surprises.” He inhaled my hair. “There’s ice on the roads and it’s dark out. If anything had happened—”
“Want me to come back tomorrow?”
He growled into my neck and set me on the counter. “A week’s too long, Lake.”
I let my head fall back as he trailed kisses up my throat. He pulled me to the edge, urging my legs around him. “Manning,” I said when his tool belt pressed my inner thighs. “Your drill.”
“That’s not my drill, Birdy.” He snickered as he unhooked his belt and let it hit the ground with a thunk that made me jump.
“Watch out for Blue!”
“She knows to get out of the way when Mama Bear comes home.”
I laughed as he tickled the underside of my jaw with his overgrown stubble. “Why are you still wearing all that anyway?” I asked.
“Huh?” he said, leaning in for a kiss.
I pulled back. “Usually you leave your belt in the workshop at the end of the day.”
“I was coming in to grab a bite.”
I pushed my palms into his chest, using all my strength to keep him from devouring me. “A bite?” I asked. “What about those frozen meals I left you?”
“That’s a bite for me. I was going to put one in the microwave—”
“You mean oven.”
“Right.”
“Then what?”
“Down the hatch and back to work. Can we talk about this after?”
I arched an eyebrow. I’d expected enthusiasm from him, naturally, but Manning was coming at me like I was blueberry pie. “After what?”
He sighed, relenting enough to let me push him back. “I missed you. You can’t expect me not to be eager.”
“Phone sex not cutting it?” I joked.
He leveled me with a glare. “You know it doesn’t. I’m just happy to have you to myself for more than a weekend.”
“Thank heavens for Christmas break.” I played with one of his shirt buttons while keeping my distance. “But it’s after seven. Why were you going back out there?”
“What do you think I do when you’re not here?” He licked his lips as he stared at mine. “I work.”
“Not tonight, you don’t.”
He squeezed my hips, bringing me against his crotch. “I never work late when you’re here. That was our deal. No matter what’s going on, if we’re both in town, we always eat dinner together.”
I kissed his forehead and slid off the counter despite his grunted protest. “First, we eat.”
“But it’s been almost two weeks.”
“It’s been eight days.” I picked up his tool belt and set it on the counter. “There’s lasagna in the oven, and I’m cooling a pie for dessert.”
As I’d predicted, that silenced him. Food was the one thing that had the potential to hold over Manning’s sex drive, at least for a bit.
“You were supposed to have dinner with classmates tonight to celebrate getting exams out of the way.”
“There was no dinner.” Bent over to check on the lasagna, I looked back at him and grinned. “I lied.”
“Lied?” He hooked a finger in my apron string and tugged me backward. “To me? Who do you think you’re dealing with here?”
I pushed his hand away and shuffled back to the oven. “Hand me the mitts.”
He put them on himself and pulled the dish out to set it next to the pie. “Nothing like your homemade meals,” he said. “My mouth is watering.”
“Patience. I won’t be responsible for yet another of your burnt tongues. Why don’t you go shut down the shop?” I asked, turning to get a spatula.
